Over at the bloghttp://toobusythinkingboutcomics.blogspot.ca/ they've been discussing Mark Millar as of late. The arguments have been more than convincing that the man is a decent topic for academic investigation, and so I hopped over to the library website to get some books to look at. Well, the first stuff in are the titular Nemesis and Jenny Sparks.
Jenny Sparks, the older book, serves as an after the fact introduction to the members of the Authority. So, it's a prequel episode about how everyone met. It's whatever. The British-y drunkard rebel character ala Constantine doesn't generally have any of my interest. Seeing as that's the protagonist in a nutshell, well there you go. As a personal bit of interest, the artist is John McCrea, and the book came out around 2000-2001, the same time McCrea was pencilling the last story arc of my beloved Superboy series. And I haven't seen him on anything else since. Though he may also have been the "Hitman" guy, so that's a feather in his cap. Not that I'm really a fan of the guys pencils, but where'd he go? Maybe I'm not the only one not a fan, ouch.
The second book is far more interesting, Nemesis. The premise is that of a mostly real world, but bored billionaires are paying for the excitement of being supervillains. Whether or not "Nemesis" is actually planning his own explosive capers or, and given the ending of the book, they're all planned out ahead of time by a shadowy... dude... is not explained. Probably the latter, and I'm just being thick in the head about it.
Tying in to the ideas over at toobusythinking about the thread of Millar's work, and learning about his book "Saviour", a what-if-Superman-was-the-antichrist story, I can't help but wonder about the significance of the shadowy dude at the end. Given the "realism" of the rest of the story, we could take it for granted that this is someone with ridiculous prediction skills, a Xanatos Gambit-er extraordinaire. However, in his final letter sent to the hero-antagonist of the book (as opposed to a villain protagonist, which this book also has) he makes an off the cuff comment about also being a religious man. As with everything in that letter, this line sounded both congenial and menacing. It's an odd thing to add... in fiction, rarely is it the case that someone will talk about being religious just because. I generally find such characters are in a setting where the divine is a central theme and an unquestioned truth, like say it was an angel in a story talking to someone who didn't know he was an angel. He'd give a little wink to the camera as he tells someone that he's "pretty religious".
It's for that reason that I wonder whether or not the shadowy dude is supposed to be a/the devil/antichrist. And then what is THAT trying to say?
Dunno. I'll have to send my queries over to toobusythinking.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
"Artistic" Strengths
This morning I dreamed I was given a writing assignment. It's hard to remember all the different parts, but there were certain elements that, as per the assignment, had to be included in this work. Like, this one dwarfen race... that's all I can remember.
Rising to the dream challenge, I constructed a perfectly good story (emphasis on 'constructed'), and I was pleased with the result. Then, my brother old Jordan told his version. What appeared/was told was an elegent rhyming number, all the required elements beautifully incorporated, and I sat stunned. I looked around to see where his notes were, but there was nothing, no process involved, just a fully formed masterpiece.
Waking up I was glad to know it was all just a dream- however the lesson I choose to take from this is a reminder of my creative limitations. I tend to look at things as a problem to be taken down to its component parts, figured out piece by piece, then put together again. Let's say Jordan's approach is more holistic. Like say if I were tasked to draw a brick wall- I'd be forced to draw every single rectangle in there, whereas Jordan can get away with drawing a few bricks and evoking a fully bricked building... and there's no doubt that latter drawing would seem more real to you (and I mean that in addition to the natural end result of Jordan being a far better drawing-artist than myself).
A similar example of our differences- though with a much happier ending on my part- is that time back in grade 6 or 7 when our class was tasked with making some clay-to-be-fired-in-a-kiln fish. My fish, a cartoonish figure taking the barest elements of what could allowably be called "fish parts", gills, some scales, fins. Much like the example of Jordan drawing those few bricks to evoke a wall, I evoke a fish. Jordan, perhaps more ambitious, did... something. I don't even know. The result was an anchovy shaped monstrosity. Mine coulda been the fish on the Mr. Sparkle laundry box.
That example is rather confusing, as it attributes the skills of older Jordan to my younger self. Well let me make this clear. I made the job simple, broke it down, and created a fine bit of art. All that happened with Jordan's fish is, I suggest, that he tried to create Fish-Athena fully formed out of his brow... but it's a tricky thing to do, and it just won't work out every time.
I've still got MY fish thing in one piece somewheres. I really did do a good job on it.
Rising to the dream challenge, I constructed a perfectly good story (emphasis on 'constructed'), and I was pleased with the result. Then, my brother old Jordan told his version. What appeared/was told was an elegent rhyming number, all the required elements beautifully incorporated, and I sat stunned. I looked around to see where his notes were, but there was nothing, no process involved, just a fully formed masterpiece.
Waking up I was glad to know it was all just a dream- however the lesson I choose to take from this is a reminder of my creative limitations. I tend to look at things as a problem to be taken down to its component parts, figured out piece by piece, then put together again. Let's say Jordan's approach is more holistic. Like say if I were tasked to draw a brick wall- I'd be forced to draw every single rectangle in there, whereas Jordan can get away with drawing a few bricks and evoking a fully bricked building... and there's no doubt that latter drawing would seem more real to you (and I mean that in addition to the natural end result of Jordan being a far better drawing-artist than myself).
A similar example of our differences- though with a much happier ending on my part- is that time back in grade 6 or 7 when our class was tasked with making some clay-to-be-fired-in-a-kiln fish. My fish, a cartoonish figure taking the barest elements of what could allowably be called "fish parts", gills, some scales, fins. Much like the example of Jordan drawing those few bricks to evoke a wall, I evoke a fish. Jordan, perhaps more ambitious, did... something. I don't even know. The result was an anchovy shaped monstrosity. Mine coulda been the fish on the Mr. Sparkle laundry box.
That example is rather confusing, as it attributes the skills of older Jordan to my younger self. Well let me make this clear. I made the job simple, broke it down, and created a fine bit of art. All that happened with Jordan's fish is, I suggest, that he tried to create Fish-Athena fully formed out of his brow... but it's a tricky thing to do, and it just won't work out every time.
I've still got MY fish thing in one piece somewheres. I really did do a good job on it.
Pitchcast
Style note: my writing has been rather coldly analytical to my ears lately. I blame my usual mimic habit, as I'm currently reading A Confederacy of Dunces and it sounds exactly the same to me. I can't wait until I read some 60's Spider-Man again so I can go back to sounding like a swinging hep cat. Or whatever.
Went to a show at the Comedy Bar tonight to watch a podcast recording. Energy levels were all around low- for me, the participants, everyone. I slumped down in a comfy leather couch near the back and stayed there. The premise of the show is that the two hosts and their three guests (who knows how many they ordinarily have, doesn't matter) get thrown a random title or actor or actress or genre or more than one of those options or all of those options, and then you get five minutes to pitch that movie.
The first pitch was about Vin Diesel, not sure what other specifics there were, but he was made President of the United States. Okay, fair enough. And he had to contend with werewolves. Again, fair enough. In addition, they were SECRET werewolves, government style, a program apparently started by John F. Kennedy.
AND THAT'S WHERE I DRAW THE LINE!!! No way, no WAY do you make a story about werewolves sponsored by the government, by the JFK presidency, and fail to mention THE SPACE RACE! I know it's a just for fun proposal made up on the spot... but come on! You were the guy the picked Kennedy! Work with your own material!
I'm blanking on what the other host pitched, which is fine, the hosts were the weakpoint here. Jimmy told the tale of John Goodman as a NASA scientist who has to fake a Mars landing to prove his job means something and therefore earning the respect of his family, who otherwise just believe he's avoiding them and wasting time. Featuring Benedict Cumberpatch as an under-utilized scientist character, and Tom Arnold as an OVER utilized friend along for the ride. The end result is the fake Mars landing gets walked in on, blowing the cover, and his family leaves him. But it turns out he's happier without them, going off fishing with Tom Arnold. Happy ending.
The second featured... forget the lead actress, but it also had Matt Damon. The project is called "Hottie on a Body" and revolves around a gypsy curse that ends up sticking Damon's disrespectful face on the stomach of the lead actress. Wackiness ensues, and eventually Damon learns just how hard it is for a woman to succeed in this workaday world.
Lastly was "Peeping Tom" starring Halle Berry and Alec Baldwin (I wanted Halle peeping on Alec so as to subvert audience expectations, but sadly this was not the case). Baldwin lives across the alley from Berry with adjoining windows. So obviously he gets obsessed with her, buys all sorts of equipment for watching her (telescope and binoculars)- but she's a lesbian and a rascist, so she'll NEVER get together with him. Apparently she's involved with the NEW Black Panthers, so Baldwin sneaks in while disguised in obvious blackface. The deception is immediately seen through, leading to the hands down funniest line of the night:
Halle Berry: "You're in blackface!!!"
Alec Baldwin: "Yeah, well YOU'RE RASCIST!!"
Amazing. So the two have a fist fight, Baldwin gets his legs broken, and so guilts Berry into sleeping with him, which naturally ends with her getting pregnant, and so they end up sharing custody. This theoretical picture was likened to Oscar winning film "Crash". So take that Crash.
Went to a show at the Comedy Bar tonight to watch a podcast recording. Energy levels were all around low- for me, the participants, everyone. I slumped down in a comfy leather couch near the back and stayed there. The premise of the show is that the two hosts and their three guests (who knows how many they ordinarily have, doesn't matter) get thrown a random title or actor or actress or genre or more than one of those options or all of those options, and then you get five minutes to pitch that movie.
The first pitch was about Vin Diesel, not sure what other specifics there were, but he was made President of the United States. Okay, fair enough. And he had to contend with werewolves. Again, fair enough. In addition, they were SECRET werewolves, government style, a program apparently started by John F. Kennedy.
AND THAT'S WHERE I DRAW THE LINE!!! No way, no WAY do you make a story about werewolves sponsored by the government, by the JFK presidency, and fail to mention THE SPACE RACE! I know it's a just for fun proposal made up on the spot... but come on! You were the guy the picked Kennedy! Work with your own material!
I'm blanking on what the other host pitched, which is fine, the hosts were the weakpoint here. Jimmy told the tale of John Goodman as a NASA scientist who has to fake a Mars landing to prove his job means something and therefore earning the respect of his family, who otherwise just believe he's avoiding them and wasting time. Featuring Benedict Cumberpatch as an under-utilized scientist character, and Tom Arnold as an OVER utilized friend along for the ride. The end result is the fake Mars landing gets walked in on, blowing the cover, and his family leaves him. But it turns out he's happier without them, going off fishing with Tom Arnold. Happy ending.
The second featured... forget the lead actress, but it also had Matt Damon. The project is called "Hottie on a Body" and revolves around a gypsy curse that ends up sticking Damon's disrespectful face on the stomach of the lead actress. Wackiness ensues, and eventually Damon learns just how hard it is for a woman to succeed in this workaday world.
Lastly was "Peeping Tom" starring Halle Berry and Alec Baldwin (I wanted Halle peeping on Alec so as to subvert audience expectations, but sadly this was not the case). Baldwin lives across the alley from Berry with adjoining windows. So obviously he gets obsessed with her, buys all sorts of equipment for watching her (telescope and binoculars)- but she's a lesbian and a rascist, so she'll NEVER get together with him. Apparently she's involved with the NEW Black Panthers, so Baldwin sneaks in while disguised in obvious blackface. The deception is immediately seen through, leading to the hands down funniest line of the night:
Halle Berry: "You're in blackface!!!"
Alec Baldwin: "Yeah, well YOU'RE RASCIST!!"
Amazing. So the two have a fist fight, Baldwin gets his legs broken, and so guilts Berry into sleeping with him, which naturally ends with her getting pregnant, and so they end up sharing custody. This theoretical picture was likened to Oscar winning film "Crash". So take that Crash.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
I... don't have any cool quotes ready for the occasion. I set the bar too high yesterday
We drove down the highway west, old son. I can't say I enjoyed how close we followed the various cars in front of us (not counting the hearse with the "MACABRE" licence plate) and in our haste we did almost swerve into a dude and to what would surely have been a fiery death. We got honked at. I feel it was fairly justified honking.
Despite all this, I tried to keep my shotgun-seat driving to a minimum. I suppose it's the result of the same philosophy that says to never criticize a barber while you're strapped to his chair with a bare throat and he has plenty of readily accesible blades at hand.
Arriving at our west end destination, and the apartments dog safely stowed away (a load off our minds), Simon and I got right to it. What's great about working with Simon is that, beyond just being excellently strong, is that he is more than ready to accept instruction (aka: the plan) for moving whatevers, has no compunction about asking for clarification or in sharing his concerns. True, these trates make for slow going when we have to pick what to have for dinner, but in the context of moving they maximize group safety and efficiency.
As a brief aside, a week or two ago (wait... three weeks?) Jordan and I agreed to help move some stuff down at the Salvation Army Scarborough Location. For the most part this was no great chore, and we were paid $50, so, score, but when it came time to move the podium back into place it was my father and I moving it along. When we had gotten to center of the stage and needed to get it back in place I wasn't a hundred percent sure how it slotted in, additionally I wanted to suggest switching places with my father so I could have the heavy portion going in (what with him not being a spring chicken anymore). I said "Let's think about this for a second.." and was about to voice my concerns, when the Corps officer said "you can think about it all you want, but that's not going to get it moved" or something to that effect, cutting me off and marginalizing my good faith effort to get this done and keep my dad from hurting himself. Not surprisingly, my dad laughed along with the officer and got to picking up his side of the podium. I was mad and didn't care anymore, so fine, I'll pick up this end and we'll toss it around until something works. As this scenario is a common one when I move things with dad you'll understand when I say it drives me crazy to move things with him.
Back to the work Simon and I were doing. The only obstacle we really encountered was fitting the mattress and the boxspring down the stairwell. I'm not even sure how we ultimately did it- the last floor seemed to have a lower ceiling that kept getting the top corner stuck- but it worked out. I was worried about how careful we'd be asked to be with keeping the mattress off the ground or whatever (it was covered in a plastic sheet) but we were assured that it didn't really matter how we did it, a definite load off my mind.
The truck we dropped this all off on was... and here my car language is failing me. It's not a truck in the sense that it was a moving truck with a big boxy back end, but a truck that has, uh, an open top, not as much space as a moving truck. More like something you'd expect someone on a farm to own, right? Except that also gives the wrong impression, saying that makes you think of some rusted red number, when this was actually really nice, black, modern, four doors. Oh, here's how I should have described it the whole time: think Marty's truck from Back to the Future, not Optimus Prime.
There we go, that was easy after all. Thanks pop culture.
We loaded everything in the Marty's truck, and I was actually shocked at myself after the fact with how injudicious I was with my leaping off of the truck. After safely landing on terra firma I realized how easily I could have been misbalanced and tripped out of the thing, and that would end your trip real fast, wouldn't it farmboy? I resolved to be more careful when stepping around up there, and specifically preparing before jumping down in the future... but even then, later on when I needed to step up on the side of the cargo hold, an even higher, far more precarious position, I once again leaped down to the ground without thinking, only after touching down realizing- "Yeesh, that could have easily gone bad!" I was, however, pleasantly surprised at how my feet didn't get all tingly hurt/shocked from such a drop. I guess my shoes are holding up all right after all.
Ah, I've just realized a good quote I could've used for the title: "Don't think. Feel." - Bruce Lee, Enter the Dragon
If a squirrel could second guess their leaps from tree branch to branch, there'd undoubtedly be a lot more squirrels dropping down to the ground. Guess I'm lucky I'm not a squirrel. That said, it was pretty fun to be jumping around.
We took Lakeshore Boulevard east to the Beaches, it must have been 3 something. Traffic was terrible at Lakeshore and Bathurst but once we passed by Spadina we did far better than I expected. Also, the truck with the mattress, box spring, and chair in the back cargo area didn't get stopped by the cops and get ticketed or anything. Whew.
We didn't need to move the bed stuff into the new apartment, that stuff was heading Kingston bound, so it was just a bookcase and the chair going in, with the bed stuff just needing a readjustment to lay flat in the truck with the new space afforded it.
Our hosts father, a genial man, was very nice to Mister Simon. Knowing Simon, that probably weirded him out. Good times.
With the last bit moved in we were offered payment. I considered turning it down, since I had previously said I just wanted to do a nice thing... but it's hard to get around the fact that I do need cash when I can get it. We were actually offered $100 to split between the two of us and I felt my eyes bulge a bit. Our "boss" looked at us a little funny, worried, I imagine, that she had offended us with a low amount. I quickly assured her that that amount was just very very great to us.
I gave Simon $60, I took $40, which slightly eased my conscience, and Simon did deserve it, not knowing this person, not wanting to go, being sick, and just helping me out.
AND we got a ride home afterwards, saving me the $3 I brought for Simon's bus ride back, and also saving Simon's tokens, which HE had brought for the bus ride back. At least we were prepared for the bus if needed!
Despite all this, I tried to keep my shotgun-seat driving to a minimum. I suppose it's the result of the same philosophy that says to never criticize a barber while you're strapped to his chair with a bare throat and he has plenty of readily accesible blades at hand.
Arriving at our west end destination, and the apartments dog safely stowed away (a load off our minds), Simon and I got right to it. What's great about working with Simon is that, beyond just being excellently strong, is that he is more than ready to accept instruction (aka: the plan) for moving whatevers, has no compunction about asking for clarification or in sharing his concerns. True, these trates make for slow going when we have to pick what to have for dinner, but in the context of moving they maximize group safety and efficiency.
As a brief aside, a week or two ago (wait... three weeks?) Jordan and I agreed to help move some stuff down at the Salvation Army Scarborough Location. For the most part this was no great chore, and we were paid $50, so, score, but when it came time to move the podium back into place it was my father and I moving it along. When we had gotten to center of the stage and needed to get it back in place I wasn't a hundred percent sure how it slotted in, additionally I wanted to suggest switching places with my father so I could have the heavy portion going in (what with him not being a spring chicken anymore). I said "Let's think about this for a second.." and was about to voice my concerns, when the Corps officer said "you can think about it all you want, but that's not going to get it moved" or something to that effect, cutting me off and marginalizing my good faith effort to get this done and keep my dad from hurting himself. Not surprisingly, my dad laughed along with the officer and got to picking up his side of the podium. I was mad and didn't care anymore, so fine, I'll pick up this end and we'll toss it around until something works. As this scenario is a common one when I move things with dad you'll understand when I say it drives me crazy to move things with him.
Back to the work Simon and I were doing. The only obstacle we really encountered was fitting the mattress and the boxspring down the stairwell. I'm not even sure how we ultimately did it- the last floor seemed to have a lower ceiling that kept getting the top corner stuck- but it worked out. I was worried about how careful we'd be asked to be with keeping the mattress off the ground or whatever (it was covered in a plastic sheet) but we were assured that it didn't really matter how we did it, a definite load off my mind.
The truck we dropped this all off on was... and here my car language is failing me. It's not a truck in the sense that it was a moving truck with a big boxy back end, but a truck that has, uh, an open top, not as much space as a moving truck. More like something you'd expect someone on a farm to own, right? Except that also gives the wrong impression, saying that makes you think of some rusted red number, when this was actually really nice, black, modern, four doors. Oh, here's how I should have described it the whole time: think Marty's truck from Back to the Future, not Optimus Prime.
There we go, that was easy after all. Thanks pop culture.
We loaded everything in the Marty's truck, and I was actually shocked at myself after the fact with how injudicious I was with my leaping off of the truck. After safely landing on terra firma I realized how easily I could have been misbalanced and tripped out of the thing, and that would end your trip real fast, wouldn't it farmboy? I resolved to be more careful when stepping around up there, and specifically preparing before jumping down in the future... but even then, later on when I needed to step up on the side of the cargo hold, an even higher, far more precarious position, I once again leaped down to the ground without thinking, only after touching down realizing- "Yeesh, that could have easily gone bad!" I was, however, pleasantly surprised at how my feet didn't get all tingly hurt/shocked from such a drop. I guess my shoes are holding up all right after all.
Ah, I've just realized a good quote I could've used for the title: "Don't think. Feel." - Bruce Lee, Enter the Dragon
If a squirrel could second guess their leaps from tree branch to branch, there'd undoubtedly be a lot more squirrels dropping down to the ground. Guess I'm lucky I'm not a squirrel. That said, it was pretty fun to be jumping around.
We took Lakeshore Boulevard east to the Beaches, it must have been 3 something. Traffic was terrible at Lakeshore and Bathurst but once we passed by Spadina we did far better than I expected. Also, the truck with the mattress, box spring, and chair in the back cargo area didn't get stopped by the cops and get ticketed or anything. Whew.
We didn't need to move the bed stuff into the new apartment, that stuff was heading Kingston bound, so it was just a bookcase and the chair going in, with the bed stuff just needing a readjustment to lay flat in the truck with the new space afforded it.
Our hosts father, a genial man, was very nice to Mister Simon. Knowing Simon, that probably weirded him out. Good times.
With the last bit moved in we were offered payment. I considered turning it down, since I had previously said I just wanted to do a nice thing... but it's hard to get around the fact that I do need cash when I can get it. We were actually offered $100 to split between the two of us and I felt my eyes bulge a bit. Our "boss" looked at us a little funny, worried, I imagine, that she had offended us with a low amount. I quickly assured her that that amount was just very very great to us.
I gave Simon $60, I took $40, which slightly eased my conscience, and Simon did deserve it, not knowing this person, not wanting to go, being sick, and just helping me out.
AND we got a ride home afterwards, saving me the $3 I brought for Simon's bus ride back, and also saving Simon's tokens, which HE had brought for the bus ride back. At least we were prepared for the bus if needed!
Saturday, April 27, 2013
"Be Strong To Be Useful" - Georges Hébert
On Wednesday I saw a facebook post from an acquaintance/new friend asking for someone to help them move stuff on Friday. The replies were generally "can't make it" or "too frail to help" (yup, they did actually say "frail"). Well, I didn't have work on Friday, nor did I have any other conflicting dealy scheduled. Why not help?
So I offered my assistance, an offer which was readily accepted. Preparatory texts were exchanged during the Thursday while I was at work (texts sent during my break of course). A new wrinkle was that it seemed no one else had really answered the call to lend a hand, and I was therefore doubtful about the feasability of just me and this woman moving a queen sized bed down three flights of stairs, despite her assurance that she was really quite strong. I said I'd try to get one of my brothers to help out.
At home that night, I asked Simon if he could help. He hasn't been feeling particularly well (neither have I for that matter, as discussed in my previous post) but he said maybe, depending on whether the start time was late enough that he could get all his gunk out of his system, and if Jordan didn't agree to help.
Jordan clung to the fact that his back has been hurting, and that the doctor said to take it easy. That's fine- I love Jordan, but when it comes to moving things with me, Simon is my go-to, number one choice.
When Simon did agree to help, I said something (I forget what) that Simon misheard as me stating that "I KNEW he'd do it", which almost turned him against the whole outing. I quickly said I didn't mean that at all, and in fact thought it was a minor miracle he agreed to help. He didn't like my saying that either. Ah, what a unique guy!
I was asked by everyone how I knew this person I'd volunteered to help, and I said I didn't really know her all that well, having only met her the two or three times in person before. The resultant shock that registered on my family's face was gratifying, and indicative, I thought, of me actually doing something pretty nice and out of the ordinary.
When Simon and I walked out to her waiting car, a small white number with an embarrassing personalized licence plate, she thanked us repeatedly and explained why her 70+ year old father couldn't help... I guess not realizing that being 70+ is in itself a totally valid reason. I was plenty uncomfortable with the repeated thanks, not wanting either her or myself to get an inflated sense of the value of the service offered. It's no good for her to feel guilty about accepting help, nor in me becoming self righteous in helping. I could help, so I should. At any rate, the world would be a better place if we tried to live like that.
I'll continue this story tomorrow, at the moment I need to sleep.
So I offered my assistance, an offer which was readily accepted. Preparatory texts were exchanged during the Thursday while I was at work (texts sent during my break of course). A new wrinkle was that it seemed no one else had really answered the call to lend a hand, and I was therefore doubtful about the feasability of just me and this woman moving a queen sized bed down three flights of stairs, despite her assurance that she was really quite strong. I said I'd try to get one of my brothers to help out.
At home that night, I asked Simon if he could help. He hasn't been feeling particularly well (neither have I for that matter, as discussed in my previous post) but he said maybe, depending on whether the start time was late enough that he could get all his gunk out of his system, and if Jordan didn't agree to help.
Jordan clung to the fact that his back has been hurting, and that the doctor said to take it easy. That's fine- I love Jordan, but when it comes to moving things with me, Simon is my go-to, number one choice.
When Simon did agree to help, I said something (I forget what) that Simon misheard as me stating that "I KNEW he'd do it", which almost turned him against the whole outing. I quickly said I didn't mean that at all, and in fact thought it was a minor miracle he agreed to help. He didn't like my saying that either. Ah, what a unique guy!
I was asked by everyone how I knew this person I'd volunteered to help, and I said I didn't really know her all that well, having only met her the two or three times in person before. The resultant shock that registered on my family's face was gratifying, and indicative, I thought, of me actually doing something pretty nice and out of the ordinary.
When Simon and I walked out to her waiting car, a small white number with an embarrassing personalized licence plate, she thanked us repeatedly and explained why her 70+ year old father couldn't help... I guess not realizing that being 70+ is in itself a totally valid reason. I was plenty uncomfortable with the repeated thanks, not wanting either her or myself to get an inflated sense of the value of the service offered. It's no good for her to feel guilty about accepting help, nor in me becoming self righteous in helping. I could help, so I should. At any rate, the world would be a better place if we tried to live like that.
I'll continue this story tomorrow, at the moment I need to sleep.
Illness Chronicle- repeated mentioning of snot and mucus, you've been warned
I seem to be having a very rough time getting well, which is unusual for me. Old school style bouts of bronchitis notwithstanding, I tend to bounce back from illness rather fast. Last week I was mighty sick, but on the mend. I felt well enough to hit the gym on Monday. I hadn't even stayed an hour, trying to keep my expectations reasonable after being sick.
(Although, come to think of it, despite the condensed time frame, I had actually used heavy weights than normal... in retrospect, I guess that was stupid.)
As you no doubt suspect by now, I had myself a relapse after Monday. Nothing too serious, mostly just the annoying return of a running nose- preferrable to the chest congestion I had before- but it was a definite backslide. On a friend's advice I tried a nasal spray to clear things out, a strategy I've maybe tried once or twice before in my entire life.
It was most unpleasant. Not sure the most effective way to get the medicine where it needs to go, spray and simultaneously breathe vs. spray then breathe. I went with the former option and it felt pretty messed up. I could taste the medicine! Highly gross, and ruined my enjoyment of a glass of water. However, I did seem to breathe better... untill about 5am when I woke up with two green-white snot trails (too much information?) I tried the nasal spray again, this time going with the more comfortable spray then breathe. The result, when I tried to lay down and go back to sleep (in effect tilting my head back, which the spray bottle specifically tells you not to do- my bad) was a steadier flow than ever, and I couldn't really fall asleep again until about an hour before I had to get up for work on Thursday.
Simon gave me a couple of cold and flu tablet things yesterday which seemed to work wonderfully.
Despite the mucus I needed to dislodge upon waking up (blowing my nose, coughing for a slight congested chest again) I feel pretty good today. I will not be taking that as a personal go-ahead to hit the gym today, I have every intention of taking it supremely easy on myself and getting back to 100%.
(Although, come to think of it, despite the condensed time frame, I had actually used heavy weights than normal... in retrospect, I guess that was stupid.)
As you no doubt suspect by now, I had myself a relapse after Monday. Nothing too serious, mostly just the annoying return of a running nose- preferrable to the chest congestion I had before- but it was a definite backslide. On a friend's advice I tried a nasal spray to clear things out, a strategy I've maybe tried once or twice before in my entire life.
It was most unpleasant. Not sure the most effective way to get the medicine where it needs to go, spray and simultaneously breathe vs. spray then breathe. I went with the former option and it felt pretty messed up. I could taste the medicine! Highly gross, and ruined my enjoyment of a glass of water. However, I did seem to breathe better... untill about 5am when I woke up with two green-white snot trails (too much information?) I tried the nasal spray again, this time going with the more comfortable spray then breathe. The result, when I tried to lay down and go back to sleep (in effect tilting my head back, which the spray bottle specifically tells you not to do- my bad) was a steadier flow than ever, and I couldn't really fall asleep again until about an hour before I had to get up for work on Thursday.
Simon gave me a couple of cold and flu tablet things yesterday which seemed to work wonderfully.
Despite the mucus I needed to dislodge upon waking up (blowing my nose, coughing for a slight congested chest again) I feel pretty good today. I will not be taking that as a personal go-ahead to hit the gym today, I have every intention of taking it supremely easy on myself and getting back to 100%.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Never really watched much of that midnight society, but I'll reference its show anyways
I'm not particularly in the mood to write at the moment (what, you thought I'd say "right now?"... yes, okay, that almost happened. "Write right". That's bad. Except for when I decide it sounds good. Which is invariably any moment now.)
But a quick post to get the months entries started is hardly horrible (there, I made with the alliteration).
I had wanted to make note of an interesting phenomenon where I dreamed that I was confronted by an old women who accused me of ignoring her, laying the guilt on thick with her mock surprise at the surely faulty postal service for never delivering the mail I had SURELY sent to her. While this was said she menacingly touched the back of my head. I awoke with a start, but feeling an odd, creepy sensation of a sort of tautness at the back of my skull.
No doubt had I been able to check the back of my head I'd have found goosebumps.
With "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" to come on soon afterwards. BOOM!
See what I did there... 'cause.. because Goosebumps is the name of a scary kids show (also line of horror books for the youth) so I just made it a reference...
But it seriously was super creepy.
But a quick post to get the months entries started is hardly horrible (there, I made with the alliteration).
I had wanted to make note of an interesting phenomenon where I dreamed that I was confronted by an old women who accused me of ignoring her, laying the guilt on thick with her mock surprise at the surely faulty postal service for never delivering the mail I had SURELY sent to her. While this was said she menacingly touched the back of my head. I awoke with a start, but feeling an odd, creepy sensation of a sort of tautness at the back of my skull.
No doubt had I been able to check the back of my head I'd have found goosebumps.
With "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" to come on soon afterwards. BOOM!
See what I did there... 'cause.. because Goosebumps is the name of a scary kids show (also line of horror books for the youth) so I just made it a reference...
But it seriously was super creepy.
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